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MidReal Story
The Parisian Secret
Scenario:I, Marl Alexander Riendeaux, arrive in Paris. My mission has yet to be revealed to me
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Marl Alexander Riendeaux
curious, and resilient. Marl arrives in Paris with no memory of his past, only knowing his name and a cryptic message from his father. He navigates the city, seeking answers about his identity and purpose. Despite facing danger and uncertainty, he remains steadfast in his pursuit of truth.
Evelyn Blackwood
resourceful, and independent. Evelyn helps Marl navigate Paris by providing him with information about the city and its dangers. Her relationship with Marl evolves from initial suspicion to mutual trust as they work together to uncover the truth about his past.
Lysander Blackwood
powerful, and elusive. Lysander is mentioned as someone Marl's father trusted with his son's life. His role in Marl's journey remains unclear but significant, as he holds secrets about Marl's identity and mission.
My name is Marl Alexander Riendeaux.
That’s all I know about myself.
Oh, and one more thing: I have a mission.
What this mission is, no one will tell me.
Not yet, at least.
How I got here, I don’t know.
All I remember is waking up in a coach, feeling sick to my stomach, with no recollection of my past.
The only thing that brought me comfort was the note my father—apparently—left for me:
"Find Evelyn Blackwood.
She will point you in the direction of Lysander.
Then your true journey will begin.
You will know what to do."
I have no idea who Evelyn and Lysander Blackwood are, or why my father trusted this Lysander with my life.
One thing’s for sure: I’m not returning until I find out who I am and why I have this mission, whatever it may be.
I arrived in Paris early this morning.
I know very little French, but luckily the innkeeper where I’m staying speaks a bit of English.
He told me a little about the city and warned me about the dangers lurking about, especially at night.
After settling in this morning, I ventured into the city.
There’s so much to take in—I’ve never seen anything like it.
Everyone’s so busy, rushing here and there.
I returned to the inn just as the sun began to set.
The common room is bustling with activity.
Merchants are counting their day’s earnings, laborers are drinking away their wages, and travelers are sharing tales from the road.
I spot the innkeeper behind his wooden counter, wiping tankards with a dirty rag.
I approach him, my feet aching from hours of walking on cobblestone streets.
"Drink?" he asks, eyeing me briefly before returning to his work.
"Yes, please."
I take a seat at the bar and look around the room.
The innkeeper sets a mug in front of me and I take a sip.
It’s not bad—not as good as what I’m used to, but it’ll do.
"Anything happen in the city today?"
I ask casually.
The innkeeper glances around the room, his eyes darting nervously about before coming back to rest on me.
He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Rumors of Blackwood’s men roaming the city. They’ve been seen in the sewers, near the river. Some say they’re looking for someone."
He waggles his eyebrows at me and leans back.
"Nothing else out of the ordinary. Just your average thieves and pickpockets."
I nod my thanks and take another sip of my drink.
So the Blackwoods are here.
That’s good news.
Now I just have to find them—or wait for them to find me.
I’m not sure which would be better at this point.
I’ve been watching the door all evening, waiting for someone suspicious-looking to enter.
So far, no one has caught my attention except for a few shady-looking men who came in a short while ago.
They’re sitting in a dark corner, talking in hushed tones.
Each one wears a dark coat with a silver pin at his collar.
The pins feature a symbol that looks like a cross with two curved horns on either side—a goat’s head, perhaps?
Or a ram?
I’ve never seen anything like it before.
As I continue to study the men, one of them catches my attention.
He’s wearing a silver ring on his left index finger that bears the same symbol as the pins on their coats.
The men stand and leave.
I take my mug with me and follow them into the street.
The sun has just set, leaving the sky a deep shade of blue.
Lamps light the streets, casting an orange glow over the city.
I keep to the shadows as I follow them.
They turn down several narrow alleys, heading in a direction I assume will take us toward the river. The men’s boots echo off the tall buildings as they walk along the cobblestone street.
Their path is winding and I have trouble keeping up without being seen.
Each time they turn down another street, I stop at the corner and count to three before continuing after them.
Eventually, they stop at a narrow set of stone steps leading down to the river’s edge.
The stench of sewers grows thicker as we near the water’s edge.
I crouch behind a large wooden barrel, watching as they continue down the steps and turn to their right once they reach the bottom.
A large metal door is set into the wall near the water’s edge, secured with thick chains and padlocks.
One of them raps out a strange pattern on the door using his knuckles:
three times, then twice more quickly, then three times again. A woman’s voice calls out from within and one of them replies.